Sinister -- Chapter 1

You'll see! :D

prologue.

    I could have sworn I was dreaming. This couldn't be happening to me...not me. Why do bad things happen to good people? I'd never know.

    My head was pounding like someone was slamming the back of my head with a hammer. My stomach twisted and turned faster than I could think. I could hear her red stilletos clicking against my tiled kitchen upstairs. It seemed to make a rhythm with the flickering flourescent light bulb in the center of the ceiling that covered my head.

    My hands were covering my mouth. I tried not to breath, I tried not to cry, I tried not to scream. Maybe she wouldn't hear me. Maybe she wouldn't know I was directly below her, paralyzed where I sat.

    Or, I could peek into reality.  She already knows I'm here, and she'll never stop. She'll never stop until she got what she came here to get.

    Me.

    "I know how you die, little boy," she called from directly above the stairs. "I've already seen it," she said, slightly louder the second time.

    As she said those four words, I had one of those millisecond flashbacks. You know, like when you see a tiny fragment of an image...but it haunts your mind for years. I saw her, a maleovelent grin on her face, a butcher knife covering her heavily lipsticked mouth. When she let the knife away from her mouth, there was a print where her lips were. Purple lipstick.

    I blinked my eyes, and, as easily as the flashback came, it had left. It left me dizzy, in a daze, and light-headed.

    Her knife drug against the edge of the counters as she slowly walked around our kitchen table. She made a soft humming noise. It was very faint, but I was able to figure it out. It made a rhythm with her stilletos and flickering light.

    She made her way around to my carpeted living room. She crossed her legs as she sat on the burgundy leather couch. As the leather tightened up in response to her sitting down, so did my heart.

    She didn't stay there for long. The leather of the couch loosened back up as she continued to tour my house. "Why don't you come up here, little boy?" She shouted, getting louder with each word she said. She continued to walk slowly into my kitchen, once, again, and splashed her hands under some tapwater. "There's nothing to be afraid of," She repeated. I could hear my heart beating through my ears.

  "There's nothing to be afraid of," I assure myself in a whisper. "There's nothing to be afraid of," I assure myself once afain, my left hand covering half of my face, a tear silently draining out of my eye.

  That's when it hits me. I have to move. I have to hide before it happens again.

  I silently attempt to make my way off the green recliner in the center of my basement, but the thunder from outside frightens me back to my seat, also knocking down my mother's priceless antigues from the shelves and on to the cracked cement floor, making a loud clattering sound.

  Meanwhile, upstairs, she hears. She hears the clattering noise and she knows I'm here...she knows where I am. She rises to attention.

  I attempt to get up once again, the second time successful. I tiptoe my way over to my dad's office. I have to pass the stairs on the way.

  "I'm in the clear," I tell myself, in a very soft whisper.

  But something stops me completely in my tracks.

  A small pistol pointed to my temple makes my heart rip its way out of my chest. It makes my entire body go numb. It makes the hair on my neck stand straight up.

  "I know how you die, little boy," I hear a female voice whisper in my ear. I can sense the coldness abd ruthlessness in her voice.

  I can't move.

  I can't cry.

  I can't breathe.

  My mind goes blank and my face hits the floor..